Ten Long Weeks
by MyMindIsAHurricane
Summary: "We all wear masks and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing our own skin." -Andre Berthiaume A series of accounts of Spencer Reid after Prentiss's death.
1. Chapter 1

" _It has been said, 'Time heals all wounds'. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, (protecting its sanity), covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But, it is never gone."_

 _-Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy_

Doctor Spencer Reid sat in his car, running his hands through his hair, feeling the tears stick to his face. He couldn't breathe and he lost all sense of where he was. He had gotten home from the funeral and laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The next thing he knew he was halfway across town, sitting in his car with the windows down, wondering what he was going to do next. He had debated many times to actually go up to the door and knock, but he stayed in his car for an hour and a half until he finally found his way to the front steps. He slowly reached his hand up and felt it land limply against the oak.

Several seconds went by and Spencer reached his hand to knock again, but it cracked open before he had the chance. A flash of blonde hair and blue eyes passed before Spencer and his eyes took in the familiarity of his friend. The door was held open for him and he shuffled inside, greeted by the smell of a homemade dinner and the sight of a well-kept living room. He heard the door close behind him and turned to embrace his old coworker.

"Spence, I wasn't expecting you here."

Spencer held JJ in a tight, warm hug for several more seconds before bursting into tears and giving all of his weight to his friend to hold onto. JJ led Spencer to the couch and kept her hand on his back as he continued to cry. The two of them sat there, in a tangled ball until Spencer finally got his breath under control. JJ stood to get tea for the both of them and they sat in silence, JJ drinking her tea slowly, Spencer merely pondering the cup and the beverage steaming inside.

"Spence, I'm sorry, but what are you doing here?"

Spencer looked up at his friend, and again ran his hands through his hair.

"I thought it was obvious," he muttered. "I carried my friend's coffin earlier today. I put a flower on her tombstone. I worked with her for four years and I just stood by as she was taken from me. I can leave if you want me to."

He stood up to go, but JJ's gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

"I'm sorry, Spencer. I should have known. It's been a shock to all of us. Please, stay as long as you want."

Hours passed as the two of them sat on the cream coloured couch just inches from each other. At times, Spencer would break out crying and JJ would place a comforting hand on his arm or shoulder. The silence in the house was unbearable and even though Spencer trusted JJ, he didn't feel comforted or in any way better. He just felt tired and hungry. He couldn't get the image of the coffin being lowered into the ground out of his mind. He still felt the smooth texture of his friend's coffin on his hands. He could feel the wind on his face and the tears running down his cheeks. He shook his head and ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.

He feel to his knees on the grass outside the house, bawling into his hands, his entire body shaking, his cries being forced from his lungs by a force Spencer had never felt before. JJ was right behind him after a few seconds, trying to comfort him with sweet words and comforting touches. He didn't want any of it. He pulled away from her like an angry child and kept on crying. Jennifer allowed him to sit there, heaving deeply into his hands, standing a few feet away.

After many minutes, Spencer fell to his hands and began dry-heaving. He convulsed violently, his convulsions interrupted by loud shrieks of grief. Jennifer stood back, watching her friend fall apart, and finally began to cry herself. She kept her tears quiet and to herself, not wanting to show her sadness to Spencer, who was suddenly quiet. Jennifer wiped the tears from her eyes, and moved closer to her friend, who was now laying on the ground, silent.

"Spencer? Spencer, are you alright?" Several more seconds passed before she put her hands on his shoulders. "Spencer Reid, can you hear me?"

He inhaled violently and began hyperventilating until his breathing was shakily under control. He turned toward JJ and pulled her into his lap, holding on to her fragile body until he was able to control himself. They sat there on the grass, the two of them together, feeling each other's pain and sorrow, neither one daring to speak.

Spencer slowly stood, resting his hands on JJ's shoulders as she stood with him. They embraced one more time, and then they turned in opposite directions. Reid climbed slowly back into his car and watched his friend step back into her house, closing the door behind her, never once turning back. He turned the engine over, and slowly drove away, leaving his soul on the lawn of his best friend's house.

Stepping back into his small apartment, Spencer felt another wave of overwhelming grief. Something seemed off, like something was missing. He knew what it was: Emily. She had never been to his house, and the two of them had never gone anywhere together alone after work. She had come to watch him play chess with some of the other geniuses at the park before, but that didn't count as them 'hanging out' together. He had told Emily his secrets, how his head had been hurting, how he always felt confused. She hadn't told him anything. Did that make him a bad friend, or a bad person? Did she not trust him enough to tell him about Doyle? Why didn't she tell him?

He pulled his phone from his pocket and remembered one of the last conversations the two of them had had together. He was asking her out to see a Russian movie, something only the two of them would enjoy. He smiled at the memory, enjoying the fact that only he and Emily would have been able to understand the movie and take it at face value. His smile was soon washed away because that feeling of guilt had come back. Even though it had been Morgan who was the last one who had seen or spoken to Emily before she was carted off in an ambulance, Spencer still felt like he should have been able to do something to help her.

The stars and moon were lighting up the sky when Spencer sat down on his little deck. He liked to look up at the stars when he was confused. He took comfort in the fact that even something as vast and crazy and confusing as the heavens could converge to make patterns in the sky. He sat in his chair outside in the pleasant weather, looking up at the stars, feeling all together sad, happy, and guilty, wondering what happened next. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to wonder for much longer. He was soon asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, his head toward the sky, his thoughts on the stars, his heart yearning for Emily.


	2. Chapter 2

" _I know all about time and wounds healing, but even if I had all the time in the world, I still don't know what to do with all this hurt right now." – Nina Guilbeau_

Spencer sat at the cold marble table, an army of carved figures standing at attention on the checkered board. His head was in his hand and the bench opposite him was empty. The whole park was empty, as a matter of fact. It was unseasonably cold and windy and the normal chess crowd were probably at home, reading or playing chess in the comfort of their own homes. Spencer knew he wouldn't see anyone at the park that afternoon, but he had to get out of his house. He kept his eyes forward, but his mind wandered back to Gideon, the only person in the world who could beat him in chess over and over again. Well, there was another person who was up to his level in the art of chess, other than Emily. And this person just so happened to be approaching the table, but it took Spencer a few moments to fully take him in.

"You know, one of my exes told me once that the reason our marriage wasn't working was because I was treating it as a game of chess—a one player game where I made all the decisions. The funny thing was that we played chess every Saturday night. She said that that's how she learned I was cheating—claimed she knew my lying face."

Spencer began to move his fingers on the table, like he was tapping out a beat to a song only he could hear.

"Did you and Gideon ever play chess together?"

At the mention of his old team member, Spencer stopped moving his fingers and focused on Rossi, seemingly for the first time. Rossi's eyes were kind and patient, giving Spencer comfort in a way he had never felt before.

"Yeah. He was the only one could beat me ten times in a row and never get bored of playing. He liked the challenge. He said that if I put the effort I put into chess into my training I would make one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen."

"This was before you were allowed into the field, I assume?" Rossi questioned. All he got in response was a nod.

"You know, Reid, you are a great profiler. You are able to pick up on the little things and catch the tiniest details that always tie all the evidence together. Your intelligence makes you unique and irreplaceable and the team—"

"He was right, Rossi. I didn't pay enough attention, didn't think through my moves long enough. I thought I knew what was going to happen so I focused on Interpol as opposed to Emily and her past. I assumed Interpol was the only secret she was hiding. I didn't think it through. If I had maybe she would still be alive."

At this, Rossi slammed his hand against the table which made Spencer snap out of his trance. He looked at Rossi's eyes which were full of anger, anger that Reid had never seen before, anger directed at him.

"Spencer, stop it right now. This is not your fault. This is no one's fault but the bastard that chased her and ruined her life for all those years. Stop blaming yourself. You didn't force her to keep your kid safe or keep national secrets. You didn't stalk her and blackmail her with information on the ones she loved. You didn't stab her. You didn't do this. Until you accept this, you will never move forward. Yes, you may be able to return to work and do your job and save people, but at the end of the day, you will always go home and sit and think about her and how you let her die. But you didn't. You loved Emily like we all did. She loved you like she loved all of us. Stop blaming yourself or you will die young and alone and full of guilt and self-hate. Don't do this to yourself."

Spencer sat stunned at the soliloquy Rossi had just delivered. The one thing Spencer had always liked and admired about Gideon was his affinity for using as few words as possible in order to get his point across. This trait also seemed to be alive and well inside Rossi too. This was the first time Spencer had ever heard Rossi speak so much and so passionately directly to somebody. He took in the man sitting across from him, the kind eyed Italian man who had a knack for well-placed one-liners and a love for good wine and dry humour. This was a man who cared deeply and only allowed his deepest emotions to be shown when it was absolutely necessary. Spencer ran all of these thoughts through his head and knew that he was lucky to have Rossi in his life.

"I think that is the first time I can ever remember you calling me by my first name," Reid commented, a light smile on his lips.

Rossi pulled his signature smirk and placed his hands on the table. He looked Spencer directly in the eyes, once again demanding the young man's full attention.

"If I know all of those things about you to be true, and can see what kind of an amazing agent you are, so did Emily. She didn't blame you, Spencer, no one did. Remember that."

The two sat on the cold benches for another three hours, talking about Gideon and Emily, tossing jokes around and sharing silences of respect. They had begun a game of chess, neither one really realising it until Rossi called checkmate.

Spencer left the park that evening with a sense of belonging. For days, he had been feeling guilty and wishing he could fix it. He had always felt like that, that he would be able to fix permanent things that had already happened and couldn't unhappen. He felt that way with his mum, with Gideon's departure, and now with Emily's death. Today had been the first time that someone had ever told him point blank that this wasn't his fault and he needed to stop worrying. Of course, he couldn't stop worrying, but it brought him comfort knowing that he was cared for. That wasn't a feeling he was used to.

He got back to his house and made a cup of tea and began to think about how it had been Rossi to find him at the park. Normally, it would've been Emily, and she would've challenged him in Russian and they would've played until they were confused about which word meant 'checkmate' in Russian, and then they would've gone to a coffee shop just around the corner and the loser would pay and they would sit at a table toward the back and talk about old cases. But it hadn't been Emily today. It had been Rossi, the one team member Reid felt the least comfortable with. Spencer and JJ had always been close, he and Morgan had a playful older brother/younger brother dynamic, Hotch was always patient with him, Garcia made him feel accepted through his eccentricities, and he and Emily were nearly the same person. He had never felt close with Rossi. That feeling had changed that afternoon and for that he was glad.

That night, Spencer was able to go to sleep knowing that he was accepted and cared about by the only seven people he had ever truly thought of as family. It was the first time since Emily's death that he didn't feel guilty, but at peace. For the first time in six years, he was able to sleep through the night and wake up the next morning feeling validated and fully accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I want to recognise tannerose5 who so sweetly reviews this story. Thank you so much for taking time to leave such kind words. I also want to thank those who have followed this story and continue to read. Please enjoy and thank you for reading.

" _The reality is you will grieve forever. You will not get over the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same again. Nor should you be the same, nor should you want to."_

 _-Elizabeth Kubler-Ross_

Spencer put his pen down and closed the file folder. He had put off doing his case studies and he had decided to stay late in order to finish them. It was fine by him, though. He didn't want to go home. All he did there was sit in his chair and waste time thinking about Emily. At least here he could think and do something productive. JJ had left about half an hour ago, and had stayed only so that he wouldn't be alone, even though they didn't say a word to each other. He was happy she had left—he didn't want to feel guilty about keeping his friends away from their lives for his sake.

He looked around the empty room and took in the desks surrounding him. His desk was adjacent to Prentiss', which had been cleaned out and now sat empty. No one new had taken the desk, and it didn't seem like anyone was in a hurry to fill the space. The fact that it remained solely he and Emily who had desks, while everyone else was stuffed away in their offices, is what drew the two closer together. They could share confused glances when someone said something stupid, or share a laugh over an inside joke. Now he sat all alone, very literally alone.

Spinning half a circle in his chair, he could see into Hotch's office. His desk lamp was still on and he sat hunched over his desk, undoubtedly drowning in mundane paper work of his own. Spencer also quickly inspected Rossi's office, which was dark and uninviting. Spencer slipped some things into this shoulder bag and stood up to push in his chair. Before he opened the door to get to the lifts, he turned once more to observe his team leader. Hotch's eyes never left his desk and he sat isolated, left in his own little world.

At the lift, Reid stood in silence watching the orange circle of light slowly ascend until it got to his floor. The doors split open, but Spencer didn't move. He stared into the empty metal box and didn't want to get in it alone. Usually on nights like this, he and Emily would go home together. They may stop to get coffee or a late dinner and just sit and talk. That's what Spencer had missed most about Emily—the way she was effortlessly able to carry a conversation with anyone. She was easy to talk to and always willing to listen to even the slightest problem. Spencer again called the lift and again allowed it to go unoccupied. He didn't want to go home, but he really didn't want to go home alone. He had seen Garcia leave, and Hotch wouldn't be out of his office for another three hours. It was a long shot, but Reid left the lifts and started walking along the corridor until he found Morgan's office. It was empty, but Morgan's keys still lay on his desk. Reid hurried back to the lift and took it to their training floor.

The main lights were off, but the ghost lights shining from the floor lit a path that Spencer followed to the shooting range. Through the glass in the door, he could see Derek standing straight, gun in hand, his forearms tense. Spencer waited for the shooting to begin, but nothing happened. He opened the door and could see the sweat racing down Morgan's face, the slight tremor in his hands. He was nervous. Spencer turned his attention to the target Morgan had been shooting at, and noticed that at least five rounds had been fired squarely into the chest and face. No doubt Morgan had come in here due to his rage against Doyle and had come crashing down from his high to the thing that stood before Spencer.

Spencer wanted to say something, but he came up empty, unable to form the words he was looking for. The two men just stood there, one full of anger, one full of sadness. It occurred to Reid that he hadn't seen JJ and Rossi grieve while he was with them, and this was the first time Morgan had allowed Reid to see him with his guard down, fully exposed and unable to break from his paralysis. He had always thought that you had to be strong when comforting someone, but that that was not always the case.

Morgan slowly put down the gun and put his weight on the small door that barred him and the target. He put his head down and shut his eyes really tightly, like Spencer's mother did when she didn't want to listen to the voices that tormented her. Spencer stood and watched Morgan, unable to move or say anything. He wondered how many nights Morgan had spent shooting a dummy he imagined to be Doyle and avenging his friend's death. He wondered how many rounds had been dedicated to this sick target practise and how many nights Morgan went home feeling unfulfilled in his training.

As Reid stood and wondered, he decided to ask the only question he could think of: "Do you want to walk out together?"

At this, Morgan turned his head, really registering Reid for the first time. He looked down at his hands and then at the gun that laid beside them. "Sure, kid, that would be great."

The two retrieved Morgan's keys and then stood by the lifts together in an uncomfortable silence. Neither one wanted to say something so when the lift came they got in awkwardly and rode down on opposite sides on the lift. At the exit, they were about to split off into different directions before Derek's voice broke the silence: "Do you want to go get a drink or something?"

Reid nodded, and they got into Derek's car and went to a small corner bar, where they sat a table and Derek drank a beer and Reid just sat and stared off into the distance.

"You know I guess I never asked you about Emily. How are you dealing with it all?"

"Well, I'm not the type to shoot a mannequin out of rage, but I guess I'm handling it. It's mostly me sulking, which is making me feel like a burden to you guys. You all seem to be handling everything so much better."

"It's because you've never lost anyone. JJ lost her sister, Garcia lost her parents, Hotch lost Hailey, I lost my dad, and Rossi lost his wife. You're not used to this feeling yet. So don't feel guilty. It'll get easier."

"But will it ever go away? This hollow feeling inside?"

Derek sighed and finished his drink. "Not really. I mean, you'll learn to fill that void, but it won't really go away. Once a part of you is ripped out, you can never really gain it back."

At that, something clicked inside of Spencer. JJ and Rossi had helped him through his grief by being strong and telling him what they thought he needed to hear—comforting words and promises of normality. Morgan, however, allowed himself to be vulnerable. He told Reid the truth, showing a blunt but true reality. And Reid had never felt more respect for Morgan than in that moment.

Reid sat there, watched Derek finish his second drink, with a comfort in knowing that you don't always have to be strong, and that sometimes it's perfectly fine to hold onto the part of you that was ripped away from you for just a little longer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Don't come at me with answers/That can only come from me. Don't tell me how my grief will pass/That I will soon be free/My life is filled with selfishness/My pain is all I see/But I need you, and I need your love/Unconditionally._

 _\- J. Hendel_

Spencer opened his eyes and stared up at his ceiling. He barely noticed the time displayed on his watch or the clock on his bedside table—he had had his dream again, and didn't want to get up and face the long day that awaited him. Slowly, he showered and put on his clothes, feeling like the strap on his messenger bag was a noose that would eventually betray him and claim him as its own. He walked down the many flights of stairs and out the front doors to his car. He sat down behind the wheel and kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the key in the ignition. His eyes stared to fill with tears and he couldn't move. He didn't remember doing it, but he ending up with his phone to ear, crying uncontrollably, with Garcia on the other end trying to calm him down.

Several moments later, a white sedan pulled up behind his car and a colourfully dressed woman stepped out, a bag in her hand and a concerned look on her face. She opened the driver's door and helped lift Spencer out of the seat. He was still crying and could only cling to his friend, sobbing loudly and violently into her shoulder. Garcia managed to take his keys and lock his car, drag him up to his apartment, put him in a chair, and make him some tea, the whole time his crying shaking her soul. He eventually fell asleep and Garcia watched her friend breathe laboriously. She was uncomfortable seeing her genius like this—he was supposed to be the one smiling after telling one of his goofy jokes and spouting useless facts.

The tech analyst took off her shoes and sat on the couch adjacent to the chair in which her friend slept. She turned on the TV and the screen lit up with Spencer's Netflix watch list—both the original and classic Doctor Who, probably watched all the way through multiple times. Garcia clicked on the first one that popped up and sat back, trying to take her mind off the situation in which she now found herself.

She was into her fifth episode and third cup of tea when Spencer awoke screaming. He almost fell off the chair and Garcia had to grab his shoulders in order for him to calm down. His eyes searched her face until he was able to recognise her and he once again started crying, falling into Garcia's arms. The two of them sat on the floor in a strained silence. Garcia held Reid as tightly as she could, shocked by the lack of weight she felt from this man nearly four inches taller herself. She guessed he probably hadn't been eating and if she had to suffer the same dreams he did, she would do the same. She wanted to cry and scream and make his pain go away, but she knew that the only thing she could now was hold him and let him know she wasn't going to leave him.

"Spencer, I love you. I love you so much. I will never leave you, or hurt you, and we all love you. Please calm down and talk to me. I know that Emily is gone and I know that that hurts. I know that you feel alone and that you will never be happy again. But I know that you will be happy. You always greet me with a smile and a nice little comment every morning, and you will be happy again. And, Spencer, listen to me, I promise you will never be alone. I will never leave you alone, the team will never leave you alone. You never have been and you never will be alone. Emily didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sure that she never wanted this to happen and if she were here, I know it would kill her to see you like this. Please, Spencer, listen to me. Have some tea and talk to me. Oh my god, please, Spencer talk to me, because I'm going crazy seeing you like this. You have no idea how much I want to take away your pain and fear, but I can't and that makes me feel so useless. Please, I'm begging you to talk to me."

Garcia heard Spencer's breathing slowly return to normal and could feel him relaxing. The two stayed on their spot on the floor, and the only noise was Garcia's words which hung unheard in the air. Eventually, Spencer pulled away from his friend, and sat up against the chair behind him. He looked at his friend and she returned it with a smile. She stood and offered him her hand, which he took, and allowed her to put him on the couch next to her. She made more tea and resumed the television. Spencer and Garcia sat on the couch and watched the show silently until he grabbed her hand and she paused the TV once more.

"In my dream, I see myself stabbing her. I feel the life go out of her body. I see the look in her eyes, the look of terror and utter fear, and I laugh. I laugh at her, Penelope. I laugh as I kill my friend."

"Oh my god, Spencer. You told me your dreams were bad, but you never mentioned that they were this bad."

"I didn't want anyone to worry. I was doing so much better and I thought I could handle it all on my own."

"Don't ever think you need to handle something alone. That was what I thought after I lost my parents and it got me in so much trouble. I regret everyday that I didn't ask someone for help. And we'll worry about you anyhow. You deserve friends who will support you, and we can't until you tell us what's wrong. I'm so sorry you have to see that. I'm so sorry. I wish I could make it stop."

"Penelope, thank you for coming here. Thank you for helping me and loving me. This means more to me than you will ever know."

"I will always love you, Spencer Reid. You are not a bother to me, you are not a burden. You are my friend, and I love you."

The friends once again embraced, this time in something that felt familiar. They sat back and watched their show and enjoyed the silence of shared love and caring. When Garcia got up to leave, Spencer opened the door for her, and they journeyed down the stairs to her car. She unlocked the door and put her stuff in and then turned back to her friend.

"Thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you for being my friend. You know, you really make me feel like I belong. We can talk about things like who was the superior Doctor or companion or if Carlos and Cecil are really going to get to the bottom of Strex Corp. I'm the genius, the socially awkward skinny 'kid' of the team, and when I talk with you, you make me feel normal. Thank you for accepting me. I owe you a lot."

Garcia hugged her friend one more time and kissed his cheek.

"You don't owe me anything, my dearest. And we both know that, yes, Carlos and Cecil will prevail, and that Clara and Eleven were the best, hands down. Get some sleep, Spencer. I'll see you tomorrow."

Spencer watched his friend drive away, and stood on the sidewalk watching the red taillights get smaller and smaller until they eventually disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

" _There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds." –Laurell K. Hamilton_

This was one of those long weekends where Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, looking at his picture of his smiling little boy, wishing that he could drop everything and go home. He ran his hand over his face and stared at the pile of impending paper work he had let accumulate on his desk over the past four weeks. These cases, these people, they were still fresh in his mind and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or if it was the worst way possible to deal with all of the horrible things he saw in his line of work. He tried not to dwell too long on any case, no matter the outcome, but sometimes he found himself mentally reliving every step that he had taken to find the unsub and the lucky or unfortunate victim.

As Aaron continued to write up his case summaries and final analysis, he smiled at a memory that flashed through his mind. It was a night comparable to this one and the team had to stay late finishing case reports. The rain was beating against the windows and they had taken over the entire floor, the seven of them the only ones left in the building. It was three in the morning and he had come out of his office to check on the rest of his team when he saw them all huddled around Reid's desk. He and Emily were engaged in the most intense game of chess he'd ever witnessed, if there ever was such a thing. They were nearly silent, but they would occasionally throw insults to each other in Russian, just to keep things interesting. Rossi had a bet over who would win, odds against Reid.

The memory faded and Hotch was left sitting at his desk finding something longing. He had felt surprisingly close to Emily, on a level that was almost paternal. Maybe it was because she reminded him of himself when he started at the BAU, or because she was prepared to go out guns blazing, saving the people she loved the most, or simply because she had trusted him so readily when everyone else had to earn her trust. There was this quality about her that Hotch felt absent from his life until he had met her. When she was driven away in that ambulance was the first time Hotch had realised just how strong this feeling was and how deeply he hoped her to be okay. Getting called into her hospital room after the surgery, being told that she would make it, seeing her breathing again was one of the happiest moments of his life. The decision to lie for her to the rest of the team broke his heart, but it felt justified by the peace he had by knowing that she was going somewhere safe.

He let another two hours pass by, filling out his endless mountain of paperwork, before his eyes began to sting and he knew he had to go home. He gathered his things and turned off his lights, closing and locking the door behind him. He dug his keys out from the bottom of his jacket pocket as he rode the lift down to his car. He was half way home when something just came over him. Hotch hadn't talked to Emily since she had left. He knew that she and JJ stayed in touch, but he had been afraid to contact her, and he felt it better that he just focus on his tasks at hand. But tonight, after his musings about her, he decided to take a little detour. He had only ever been to Emily's apartment once before, but he somehow ended up parked in front of her building. He wanted to go inside, but knew the doorman would turn him away, so he turned off his engine and just sat looking at her building.

Another memory flashed through his head, one back in the hospital room about five hours after Emily's surgery, after the rest of the team had left. JJ had just gone home, and Hotch was left alone in the room with Emily, who was still pretty lost in the amnesia of her drugs. He was staring at her heart monitor, almost waiting for it to flat line. He had seen people in this state before, but never had it been someone he cared so deeply about. He usually had the opportunity to distance himself from the people he saw in the hospital, since he wasn't connected to them in any way, but with Emily it seemed like if he left the whole world would collapse. She didn't say anything to him, probably didn't even know he was there, but at one point he moved to the side of her bed and held her hand. She delicately wrapped her fingers around his palm and they stayed like that for five minutes, Hotch comforting this pseudo-daughter he had come to have such deep feelings for.

This kind memory vanished quickly when Aaron spotted a shadowy figure move past his car. He looked ahead of him and saw someone approaching the front door of the building. He stayed alert, but didn't leave his car. The doorman came to the door and took what looked like a bundle of flowers from the figure, after talking to him for a few moments. The men shook hands, and as the doorman went back inside, Hotch caught a view of the man who had delivered the flowers.

"Spencer! Odd seeing you here tonight," Hotch called from his rolled down window.

Spencer turned abruptly and walked over to Aaron's car. He still had his messenger bag draped over his shoulder and was tightly gripping his keys in his hands.

"Hi, Hotch. Do you always come here on Fridays? I've never seen you here before."

"Do you?"

Spencer shrugged and hugged his bag closer to himself. "When I can."

"Do you want to get in? It's cold outside."

Spencer climbed into the passenger seat and balanced his bag on his knees. "This place reminds me of her. I dropped off flowers here after her funeral, and ever since then I've come on Friday nights with some flowers for her. The doorman always puts them somewhere. He says they brighten up the hallways."

"That's a nice way to remember her, Spencer."

"It makes me feel like I can forget her the rest of time. I'm finally at a place where I can get along without blaming myself or spinning out. This keeps me in line."

"I'm glad you've gotten better. It's nice to have back our normal Spencer Reid."

"I wouldn't be here without the help of all of you guys. I owe you a lot."

"Get home safely, Reid. I'll see you later."

Aaron watched at Spencer got into his car and drive away. His mind traced back to the first time he met Spencer. He felt a very similar pull to Spencer as he did to Emily, only it wasn't so much paternal as it was brotherly. While he was Emily's father, he was Reid's brother, telling him which courses he should follow, but also throwing around jokes and sharing interests in some of the same books and movies. On the entire drive home Aaron thought about Reid and Emily, and noticed how perfect they were for each other. They were never romantically connected, never wanted to be, but Hotch couldn't help but feel happy when he watched the two of them interact.

He was happy to hear how well Reid was doing. He felt the guilt of the secret he was keeping pushing down on him, but he knew it was for the better. Reid could finally function again, truly act like himself. He was still sad about Emily, still hurt after her, but could finally go to sleep at night, and that's all that mattered.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Years of love have been forgot in the hatred of a minute" –Edgar Allen Poe_

Spencer stumbled through the doors to the BAU in a haze a nausea and confusion. His head was spinning and his heart raced. He blinked his eyes and tried to forget what he had seen. He could usually forget the bad things that he faced on a daily basis, but he knew that this one would be seared into his minds' eye forever. He was fully aware that he had just left his team at the round table, everyone in shock, but also flooded with happiness. He knew that his phone was ringing his bag, he could feel the vibrations of it, but he didn't care. He got in his car and he drove home, his mind clouded, he stomach in knots, his head splitting from pain. He somehow found his way to his apartment and sat on the floor staring at the grey walls, trying to figure out what had just happened.

He took a deep breath and allowed some of the pressure in his chest due to his beating heart to subside. He closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what had just happened. They had been sitting at the round table, getting ready to be prepped for their next case. It was all so normal—Garcia standing in front of the screen with the remote in her hand, Rossi casually leaning back in his chair with a cup of coffee in his hand, JJ getting off the phone with her husband, and Derek and Hotch walking into the room together, folders in Hotch's hand, which he proceeds to pass out. It was all so normal, the first normal case that Spencer had experienced in ten weeks of grief and confusion.

Reid took another deep breath and opened his eyes just to remind himself that he was back in his apartment. He couldn't remember if he locked his door or not, so he go up and turned his key in the lock. He picked his bag up from the floor and threw it onto the couch. He took off his shoes and sat in his chair by the window, the chair opposite his floor to ceiling bookcase, the chair where he sat while Garcia made him tea and comforted him with funny stories. That had been just three weeks ago.

Spencer was having a hard time remembering exactly what case it was they were being sent on. He couldn't remember the names of the victims, the faces of the families, the city in which the case took place. All he could remember was a cold chill taking over him as a familiar presence entered the room. It took him a moment to realise exactly who she was, to recognise her face, her hair, her posture, her gaze as she scanned the familiar faces in the room and then locked eyes with him. In that instance, time slowed and finally came to a total standstill. In that instance, it was just the two of them, him sitting, her standing, staring at each other. Her gaze was kind and sympathetic, relief shining from behind her eyes. Her smile was small and reserved, but she was happy to be there, happy to see him again. He felt his whole body go numb. This couldn't be real. But then, she spoke. And he just couldn't handle it anymore.

Emily Prentiss. The woman who he had befriended quickly. The woman who spoke Russian with him. The woman who was more than willing to spend endless hours playing chess. The woman who understood him on a level that no one else did. Emily Prentiss. His friend. His coworker. His spontaneous fellow agent who would never go down without a fight. His team member who was kidnapped with him and took abuse for him. Emily Prentiss. The secret double agent. The cautious woman who never let anyone know what she was really thinking. The agent who had too much to hide. Emily Prentiss. His friend who had sacrificed herself for her job. His friend who lay dying on the floor. His friend who was rushed to the hospital. His friend who died during surgery. His friend whose coffin he had carried. His friend who had died. His friend who was dead.

Spencer spent the rest of the day at his apartment. His phone kept ringing periodically, but he never answered it. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, he didn't really do anything expect pace around his apartment and think. He overanalyzed, he replayed the situation, he kept on seeing her face. He kept on remembering exactly what her voice sounded like. He kept on remembering the feeling of the ground beneath his feet, the weight of the coffin as he carried it to the gravesite, the tears streaming down his face, the pain in his chest as he buried his friend and said goodbye. He remembered falling apart on JJ's front lawn, playing chess in an empty park with Rossi, getting a drink with Derek and living in nostalgia and cold liquor, drinking tea with Garcia talking about storylines of the sy-fy podcasts they both enjoyed, and telling Hotch about the flowers he left for Emily every Friday night. Through all of these memories was the image of her face, a face he hadn't seen in ten weeks, a face he was used to not seeing everyday, a face he loved, a face he know realised he hated.

The sun set and Reid looked once again around his apartment. It was quiet, filled with books and papers strewn everywhere, the scent of tea and printer ink floating around every corner of the small apartment. He looked at his phone on the table as the screen lit up and the phone danced on the table while it vibrated. He couldn't read the caller ID and just let the phone ring out. About two minutes later, it buzzed again, the screen telling that someone had left a voicemail. For the first time that day, he picked up his phone and scrolled through the list of calls he had missed. He put his phone on speaker and clicked on the new voicemail. His hair stood on end as her voice filled his apartment and his body went numb. He took a breath as he let her voice play through the tiny speaker on the bottom of his phone: "Hello Spencer. I'm sure I'm the last person you want to talk to, or I guess listen to because this is a voicemail, but please call Hotch. He wants to explain everything to you. I would, but I really doubt you would listen to me. All I can say is that I'm so sorry, Spencer, I'm so sorry. I wish that this didn't have to happen, but once Hotch explains, I hope you'll see that I did what I did with the team's best interest in mind. Really Spencer, I never meant to hurt you. I value your friendship too much to hurt you. I realise it may take a really long time for you to trust me again, but I do hope you can come to talk to me eventually. Maybe play another game of chess. Извините, пожалуйста."

Reid cringed at the Russian line she had spoken. Every word up until had seemed insincere, like lines she had memorized for a play. But her _I'm sorry_ spoken in Russian seemed like a slap in the face. Almost like a taunt. Reid didn't call Hotch. He didn't answer any of the text messages or phone calls. He felt empty inside, but it was a different empty from how he had felt after her funeral. This empty was an empty that was riddled with lies, confusion, and the pain of being deceived. He was a good agent. He could tell that Hotch had been in on the whole thing. He could tell that Emily didn't want to own up to what she had done and she let Hotch take the fall. He could tell that she wasn't really sorry.

Weeks past and cases came and went. Reid eventually learned the story and figured everything out. He felt pain whenever he saw Emily and it took him a while to forgive Hotch and JJ for lying to him about it all. But the pain subsided and the team once again resembled the coherent machine that brought justice and help to those who needed it. Reid learned how to work with Emily again, and they rebuilt a shaky friendship. It was never the same though. Even after Emily left for good, and Alex came to fill her spot, and then Callahan, Emily Prentiss was never quite the same comforting person she had once been. She was still a great agent, and a good person, but as far as Reid was concerned, there was nothing she could do to erase the pain from those long ten weeks.


End file.
